“So says the man at the scene of a bank robbery,” said the cop named Tom.

“People have been robbing banks for years,” Trent said. “You’re not gonna stop ’en by bannin’ shit.”

Donna let go of him and said, “We got to get you into some dry clothes before you freeze to death.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Not until we get your statement,” Bill said.

Trent nodded. “Come on up to the house, then. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Yeah, right, and leave the bank unguarded with a big hole in the middle of it.” Bill went over to the edge of the crater and looked down again. “We better call the utility guys to shut all that off before it turns into a swimming hole. How’d you wind up in the bottom of that, anyway?”

“I’d just got some cash when he drove up and took off. The backdraft blew me in.”

Bill whistled softly. “That must’ve been a moment.”

“Yeah.” Trent’s leg was still hurling. He looked for blood, but didn’t see any. It couldn’t have been broken, or he wouldn’t have been standing on it. Probably just a hell of a bruise.

“All right,” he said, “if you need a statement, let’s get started. It was a dark brown General Electric van, couple of years old, with Wyoming plates. Didn’t see the number. It was definitely beefed up for vacuum, and the guy inside was wearing a spacesuit…”

2

It was a couple of hours later before they finally pulled up in front of the brew pub. They had gone home for a change of clothes after the cops were finished with them, and Trent had nearly said to hell with it and just stayed there, but Donna still wanted to go out, so here they were.

You could tell where the pub was just by looking down the street. There were more cars parked in front of it than anywhere else along the five blocks of downtown Rock Springs. Even when the economy was going down the tubes—maybe especially then—people could always find a few extra dollars for a drink.